by Parker, Ali
They all met it without protest. They wanted it.
“Are you having lunch in here today, Mr. Reynolds?” Lindsay asked, settling down at the desk in front of mine and unwrapping her sandwich.
Truth be told, I wanted to go to the break room to see Emelia. I hadn’t spent any time with her since our frolic after the dance, and I was craving a few minutes in her company.
But my students had come to expect my company during lunch, and I’d bailed more often than not lately.
So I kicked my heels up on my desk, reached down to my lunch bag tucked underneath, and pulled it out to set it on the desk. “Sure am.”
The other two kids in the room, Jude and Brianne, dropped into their own chairs and grinned at me. Jude was a gangly young man with more stubble on his jaw than many fully grown men. Brianne was a shy, brilliant young woman with a heart of gold. The three of them were best friends, and if my door was open at lunch, they were in here with me.
“Who do you think has the most interesting topic, Mr. Reynolds?” Brianne asked.
I considered her question. “Honestly? I couldn’t tell you at this point. I’m intrigued by all of them. The interest will be determined on the execution.”
Brianne rolled her eyes at me. “You just don’t want to say out loud whose idea is best.”
I grinned. “Maybe.”
Jude snickered. “We all know it’s not yours, Bri. Stop digging.”
“Hey,” she said defensively. “That’s not true. People care about bottom dragging.”
“But do they care enough to endure an entire speech about it?” Jude asked.
Brianna shifted uncomfortably. “Well. Maybe not everyone. But I do. And that’s the whole point, right, Mr. Reynolds? To talk about something we’re passionate about?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “But?”
I shrugged. “But you might find it more enjoyable if the others are as interested in your subject as you are. Can you expand it to discuss more than bottom dragging? What if you focus on human abuse of the oceans? Make your scope bigger so you can pull from more facts.”
Brianne took a bite of her wrap and nodded as she chewed. She washed her bite down with a sip of fruit punch from a juice box. “Like shark-fin soup and oil leaks and—”
“Yep, all the things, Bri.” Jude sighed.
“Shut up, Jude. Just because you don’t care about our oceans doesn’t mean other people don’t.”
“I never said I didn’t care,” Jude said. “I just don’t care as much as you. I recycle. I cut up the plastic things on six packs before I put them in the trash.”
Brianne rolled her eyes.
“When are you buying six packs?” I asked.
Jude blinked. “Er. Six packs of soda.”
I chuckled. “Uh huh. Sure. Soda.”
We spent the rest of our lunch break shooting the shit and making each other laugh. When the bell rang, the kids fled the room to get to their next class, and I packed up my lunch bag. Then I left, locked the door behind me, and made my way to the break room to mark papers during my free block.
I ran into Emelia in the hallway as she made her way back to her class.
“Hey,” I said, touching her shoulder.
She’d had her head down and was reading what I assumed was an essay from one of her students while she walked. She looked up at me and smiled. “Hi, stranger.”
“I wanted to come see you at lunch, but I got caught in my classroom.”
She folded the paper in half. “I know. I might have walked by your class to see what you were up to. You’re very popular among the students here, you know?”
I rubbed the back of my neck and tried not to smile so sheepishly. “I know.”
Emelia laughed. “So humble.”
“I can’t help that they adore me.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “No. I suppose not. It’s hard not to.”
I hoped my cheeks weren’t turning red. That would be downright embarrassing. “Lunch together tomorrow?”
Emelia nodded. “Tomorrow sounds good to me. Will I have to fight off a bunch of teenagers for your company?”
“I’d pay to see that.”
Emelia moved around me and started down the hallway to her classroom. “I’d win, Mr. Reynolds.”
Chapter 18
Emelia
My classroom was alive with the sound of pencils scribbling across paper and exasperated sighs every thirty or so seconds. It was test day, and bless their poor souls, my students had been busting their asses to prepare.
I’d also been working hard to make sure they were ready to sit down and take the exam. These scores would influence their grades as per the school district standards. It was unfortunate because I knew for a fact some of the smartest kids who knew all their stuff were simply poor test takers. They crumbled under the pressure, forgot all the information they’d retained like a sponge since the beginning of the semester, and barely passed.
Their concern had been met with understanding from me. There was no way I’d doom them to a bad letter grade simply because they were poor test takers—like me. If they scored poorly, I’d give them a make-up test, where they could come in after school hours and sit in my classroom and take the test again while I graded papers.
The offer alone had alleviated a lot of stress.
My eyes wandered to the clock on the wall above the door. “Fifteen more minutes, folks. Don’t rush. If you need more time, I’ll stay with you through lunch hour.”
Nervous muttering filled the room.
Truth be told, I didn’t have much interest in hanging around during lunch. I wanted to get to the break room so I could steal my forty-five minutes with Jace.
How crazy.
I was as boy crazy for Jace as the girls in this school were for Kyle, the resident bad boy with good hair and an edgy leather jacket. I supposed in high school, he might have been my type, too. The type you knew was bad news, who your father would undoubtedly (and rightfully) hate, and who would swear at the dinner table if you tried to bring him to a family meal.
Jace wasn’t like that. Jace was a stand-up guy. He was noble. And kind. And compassionate. He believed in his students, and his teaching practices showed that. His English class had the highest grades of all the others in the school, and I’d heard on the lips of other teachers that parents came in to specifically request their child be placed in his class in the upcoming semesters.
It made perfect sense to me.
His passion shone through and inspired the students. His non-traditional approach made class time more enjoyable, which increased engagement, which raised letter grades.
It wasn’t rocket science. My goal as a teacher was to get to that level. All I needed was the confidence to get there.
In time.
Time.
The clock ticked slowly. I drummed my fingers on my desk but stopped when I remembered the desperate test taking happening all around me. Finally, the final few minutes arrived, and I asked everyone who was finished to hand in their tests.
Only two didn’t get up.
The bell rang, and I stayed in my desk, willing them to finish their exams as soon as possible while still being diligent and not rushing. Much to my surprise and delight, they finished within the first ten minutes. Both handed in their exams and offered me grim, tight-lipped smiles.
“I’m sure you did great,” I assured them.
Then I struck a course for the break room.
I found Jace out in the hall. He had his back to me and was standing amongst a circle of students, mostly male, and he was talking animatedly with his hands. The kids were laughing, some of them clearly poking fun at him, and when I approached, Jace threw his head back and roared with the most contagious laughter I’d ever heard.
I was grinning like a fool when he turned and saw me.
“Hey, Emel—Ms. West.” He checked himself and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Lunch time?�
�
“Unless you have other engagements.” I gestured at the other students.
Jace waved them off. “These losers? Nah. I was waiting for someone to come to my rescue.”
One of the students, a young boy in an oversized sweater, rolled his eyes. “We’re the ones who can never get rid of you, Mr. Reynolds. Don’t get it backwards.”
Jace did a quick look both ways down the hall to make sure there were no other adults present, flipped the kid the bird, and then scampered off with me in tow while the kids laughed behind us.
Being relatable was a teacher’s most useful tool in a high school. I would stand by that knowledge until the day I retired. Hopefully happily and not resenting the students I was initially so thrilled to influence. I’d seen that happen too many times.
“How has your morning been?” Jace asked as we retreated to the quiet sanctuary of the break room. Other teachers were already gathered there, some of them sipping drinks and lounging on the sofas, others talking on their phones. “I hear you were holding history exams.”
“I was. Poor kids. I feel bad causing them so much stress.”
“You’re not causing them stress. The system is.” Jace opened the fridge, pulled out his lunch, and stood aside for me to grab mine.
I retrieved my salad from the top shelf, and we found an empty table. “I know. But still. I’m the one marking them and responsible for giving them the information they need to succeed.”
“So you’re feeling the pressure too?”
“Big time. It’s a whole different ball game when you see the same kids every day. I’m used to being in a new school every week. The consistency is great. But the responsibility is so much higher.”
Jace nodded knowingly. “I know what you mean. I felt the same way when I got my first full-time gig. Don’t worry. It’ll go away eventually. Or you’ll find a way to better cope.”
“I hope so.” I sighed.
Jace leaned back in his chair. I liked how casually he draped himself across the furniture. “Let’s talk about something else. Tell me how Linden is doing. Is he adjusting to life in Annapolis?”
You mean is your son enjoying living in a new town?
I averted my gaze and stirred my salad up. “He’s doing well. He really likes his school, which is great, because so do I. They have great after-class programs, so I don’t need to have a separate sitter to watch him in the afternoons. And the kids there are very welcoming to him. I think he might be on his way to making a couple friends.”
“That was fast.”
“Linden is a bit of a social butterfly. It can be a bit of a problem. He has no sense of boundaries.”
Jace smiled. “Paxton could do with a bit of that.”
“How’s he doing?”
Jace rubbed his jaw. My cheeks burned as I watched him, and I looked away again, pretending my salad was super interesting in an effort to keep my desire under wraps. This was not the time or place to ruin my panties.
“He’s good. I just… I think he’s lonely. And I don’t know how to help him because he’s so afraid of other people and kids. I worry about him.”
“Worry how?” I asked. I could read the distress in the man before me. His forehead was creased, his jaw tight.
“I worry Gwen and I might have done damage we can’t repair.”
“Oh, Jace, no.” I shook my head firmly and moved to sit beside him instead of across from him. All thoughts of other teachers around us vanished from my mind, and I put my hand on his. “You can’t think like that. What Paxton went through is still very fresh for him. You’ve moved on because you have the ability to see the situation objectively. Paxton is four. Objectivity isn’t in his wheelhouse. Not yet. But it will be. And he’ll be all right.”
Jace tried to smile at me. It didn’t really work.
I squeezed his hand. “I’m absolutely sure of it. He’s very lucky to have you as his father. Trust me. He’ll come around. And until he does, there are some things you can try.”
Jace perked up at that. “What sort of things?”
I smiled. “All Paxton is missing is his sense of adventure.”
“Oh?”
“When the time is right, something will come up, and all he’ll need is a little push, and then the world will open up to him. It might not happen soon. But it will happen. I’m sure of it.”
“And if he doesn’t take the chance?”
I shrugged. “Then he doesn’t take it. That’s the beauty in it. We’re all different. Paxton is a sweet boy and always will be. It’s in his nature. But with the right push, he might surprise you.”
Jace’s green eyes flicked back and forth between mine. “Can I take you to dinner this weekend?”
“What?”
“Dinner. Saturday. Are you free?”
I blinked. “Um. Yes. I think so.”
“You think so, or yes, you’re free?”
My cheeks burned. “I’m free.”
Jace grinned. “Good. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
Chapter 19
Jace
Paxton hopped up onto the foot of my bed and shimmied his butt backward until he could pull his legs up and sit cross-legged. He held his ankles and watched, expressionless, as I rummaged through the depths of my closet.
“Where are you going for dinner?” Paxton tugged at the top of his blue socks.
“Trattoria.” My fingers closed over the smooth fabric of my trusty black tie. I only had one. Having more seemed unnecessary, seeing as how I never had any events worth going to that I could wear a tie for. Unless one counted student-teacher meetings. Which I did not.
I pulled the tie free from the depths of my closet. Apparently, I’d never taken the knot out. It was still tied, just loosely pulled open enough so I could drape it over my head and tuck it under the collar of my white shirt. I wondered dimly what the last event was I’d worn it to.
“How late will you be?”
I studied my son. He looked nervous. “Not late,” I assured him.
“What time?”
I moved to the end of the bed and crouched down so that we were eye to eye. “Eleven o’clock at the latest.”
“Can you wake me up if I fall asleep?”
I smiled and ruffled his hair. “Of course. But something tells me you and Grandpa will have a fun night and you’ll still be awake when I get home. Remember. No bedtime with grandpa.”
Paxton sighed. “I know.”
Paxton had to be the only kid in this town who didn’t get excited about a night with his grandfather and no rules. Bruce was not a parent, and we’d discussed early on in Paxton’s life, when Gwen was still in the picture, that we would not treat him as such. Bruce got to be the fun grandpa now.
If only Paxton would come around and learn to live a little, then he might be able to take full advantage of the freedom before time slipped away from him and childhood passed him by.
“What’s her name?” Paxton asked.
It had been an internal debate trying to decide if I wanted to let Paxton in on the fact that I had a date tonight. After agonizing over the dilemma, I concluded that I would tell him. Paxton didn’t like surprises. If I kept him in the loop from the very beginning, it would be less jarring if something came of this thing between Emelia and me.
I knew that was a bold way to think about me and her. I didn’t know what this thing was, let alone where it was going, but when you had children, you couldn’t approach something with as carefree of an attitude. You had a primary responsibility to your child first and foremost. Emelia felt the same way about Linden.
That was one of the things I liked most about her. She was a brilliant mother. Her son was her priority and so was mine, and we would navigate this thing between us with that in mind.
“Her name is Emelia.”
“Emelia,” Paxton said. His lips formed her name with unfamiliarity. “Is she nice?”
“Very nice.” I put a hand on his knee. “I think if you had time to g
et to know her, you’d like her, Pax. She’s funny. And sweet. And calm.”
“Linden’s mom?”
I nodded.
Paxton and Linden had spent only a small amount of time together when Marie babysat them at my house the night of the school dance. Paxton had apparently spent most of the evening in his room or lingering at the threshold of doorways, looking in at Marie and Linden while they talked and played games.
Marie told me he’d gone into the fort though. Neither her nor Linden pushed him to do so, but he went in, sat with them, and listened. He barely spoke a word, and Linden didn’t ask him to. They just sat.
That was better than nothing.
Paxton picked at his socks again.
I resisted the urge to sigh. “What are you thinking about, buddy?”
His bottom lip puckered, and he drew it into his mouth, pinching it between his teeth. He wouldn’t look at me when he said, “I miss Mom.”
My gut tightened.
Paxton looked up at me with glassy eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“No.” I sat on the edge of the bed beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. My son leaned into my side. “Don’t be sorry. I know you miss her. I miss her too.”
There was a reason I never told Paxton that his mother had called and told me she was coming to visit. Gwen had a tendency to overpromise things and commit to ideas that she liked the sound of, and then not follow through. The last two times she’d called and told me she was coming, she never showed. Both times, I’d told Paxton she was coming, and he spent a week eagerly awaiting her arrival like she was Santa Claus.
And then she never showed up.
Never even called.
And I was left to pick up the pieces of our son’s broken heart and try to repair the image he had of his mother. I didn’t want him to resent her. Or think she didn’t love him, which he did.
So I never told him about her phone call a week and a half ago. And I was glad I hadn’t because I still hadn’t heard from her.